The Man from the Past
by TotalFanGirl221B
Summary: 'Sherlock started panting. He tossed and turned and started to squeeze his eyes tighter and tighter to try and get rid of the image but he couldn't. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and sat up quickly, still panting. He took deep breathes in and out when he took a look around the room, realising it was all just a dream. He put his right hand over his face a sighed in relief...'
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock started panting. He tossed and turned and started to squeeze his eyes tighter and tighter to try and get rid of the image but he couldn't. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and sat up quickly, still panting. He took deep breathes in and out when he took a look around the room, realising it was all just a dream. He put his right hand over his face a sighed in relief. Then, he slowly removed his blanket and sat himself at the edge of the bed. He buried his head into his hands and slowly shook it from side to side.

John went down to Sherlock's room in the morning to find Sherlock with his hands in prayer position and his eyes closed. He thought he was just thinking, he didn't realise he was asleep. "So, have you had any breakfast?" John said, happily. He was in a good mood because he was going on another date with Sarah that night. Sherlock didn't reply. "Sherlock, do you want something to eat?" John asked as he walked over to the kitchen. He looked in the fridge, but there was nothing there, as per usual. "Sherlock, you do know there is a place called a shop? You should go there sometime!" John joked, but still there was no reply from Sherlock. He just sat there, so still. John thought he was just being his usual self; ignorant. "Are you even listening to me?" Sherlock still didn't reply. John walked over to him. "Sherlock, I asked if you were listening to me?!" John shouted. Sherlock quickly opened his eyes and slammed his hands down onto the desk.

"W-what? Sorry, I… I was just… thinking." Sherlock brought out his chair and tried to stand up, but he couldn't. He was so tired; he hadn't had any sleep in a week now; too many bad dreams. He stood up, but started to get light headed and was about to collapse. He quickly reached out his hand and slammed it onto the desk to keep himself up.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked, reaching out his hand to help him. Sherlock stayed where he was for a few minutes and closed his eyes so he could try and concentrate on reality. John put his hand gently on Sherlock's back. Sherlock opened his eyes and shook it off, he insisted he was alright. John knew he wasn't; he took one look at his face and knew something was wrong. "Sherlock, why are there bags under your eyes? You look absolutely terrible." John was right; Sherlock had huge bags under his eyes, he could have gone shopping with them (if he ever went shopping), he was pale, and he looked incredibly flushed. Sherlock didn't answer; he just sat himself down onto his armchair and picked up a newspaper. John didn't bother to argue; he just sat down and pretended everything was normal.

Later on, Sherlock and John were asked to meet Lestrade. It was about a case they had done earlier that week. Sherlock didn't understand what the point of discussing an old case was, but he had nothing else to do and there might be something interesting about it.

In the taxi there, Sherlock closed his eyes gently and tried to sleep. But, as before, the images were there. The same images he had been seeing every night for a week. He quickly opened his eyes and grabbed a hold of the door before realising it was another dream. He didn't understand what was happening to him; for the first time in a long time, he was actually scared. Scared of these dreams and what they meant and what they were doing to him. John saw Sherlock panic, so he asked if he was alright. Of course Sherlock just nodded and pretended as if everything w_as _alright even though he knew things were terrible. He knew he should have told John there and then, maybe John would have been able to help him. But, for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to tell him. He couldn't bring himself to admit that he was scared and that he needed help, because he knew John would find the funny side of this and Sherlock didn't want people to laugh at him; he already felt crazy enough as it was, let alone everyone knowing he's scared of a few bad dreams. So, he just rested his head back onto the seat and made sure to stay awake, even though all he wanted to do right now was sleep.

They had both arrived at Scotland Yard. John paid the taxi driver and then accompanied Sherlock into the building. Sherlock felt very light headed on the way up and could hardly stand up straight, but he tried to hide it as best he could. John walked faster than Sherlock on this occasion, which even he thought was a little odd; Lestrade wants to talk about a case and Sherlock's not really as excited as he normally is. Just because it's about a previous case, Sherlock would still be a little interested, but he acted as if he had no care in the world. So, John kept looking behind him to make sure Sherlock was still there and was alright. Sherlock knew what he was doing and tried to make him stop, but it didn't bother him really because then he knew he was safe; he felt as though he could collapse any second, so with John watching his every move it was alright because then he could help him. Obviously he wasn't going to admit this to anybody.

Lestrade met them outside of his office and invited them both in. He offered them both a seat which they both accepted and Lestrade sat down as well. Lestrade started to talk about the case. John was very interested and enthusiastic, whereas Sherlock just seemed to have better things to do. He had his right elbow leaning on the desk with his right fist hold his head up. He yawned several times and was just falling asleep. "Sherlock, am I boring you?" Lestrade looked at Sherlock who was trying to sleep. Sherlock opened his eyes and realised what he had done. He removed his elbow from the table and tried to speak, but he didn't have an excuse.

"No, no. Do continue." He yawned.

"Sherlock, why are you acting like this? Have you had any sleep recently?" John asked, looking over to Sherlock. Sherlock looked at him and didn't know how to reply. What would he say? What should he say? He opened his mouth, but then closed it once more. Then, he looked down at the floor and sighed. He knew he had to tell John something, he was acting so out of character that eventually somebody is going to say something and he will have to tell them everything, so it's better to tell John something now than having to tell someone else everything later. He looked back up at John.

"I haven't slept in a week." Sherlock managed to say. He then looked back at Lestrade who didn't know what to say. He wasn't really involved in this part of the conversation.

"What, why?"

"I don't know, I guess I just haven't."

"Sherlock I know you're lying. Why haven't you been sleeping?" John gave Sherlock a stern look; he wasn't going to leave until Sherlock had given him the truth. Lestrade just sat and waited for these two to stop with their shenanigans.

"John, I don't know why I haven't been sleeping but I haven't." Sherlock said sharply. He didn't want to have to explain himself, especially not in front of Lestrade, or anybody in that matter. John was about to protest when Lestrade butted in.

"Alright, anyway; back to the case." John sighed and Sherlock looked to Lestrade.

"Yes, back to the case." Sherlock said, making sure John had completely finished.

Lestrade continued to discuss the case. He was mainly looking at Sherlock, so when Sherlock started to get a headache he had to hide it, which was incredibly hard as he was in a lot of pain. "Could you… could you just stop, a minute, please?" He asked, putting his hand up like he was ordering rather than asking. Lestrade stopped and asked if everything was alright, John also got a little concerned. "Would you excuse me for a minute, I just want to go to the toilet." Sherlock said as he got up from his seat. He swaggered out, walking like a drunk man he went to the toilet.

He went in and closed the door behind him. He held onto the handle for a minute or so and looked down at the floor, taking a few breaths in and out. He then walked slowly over to the taps and turned the cold one on. He put both hands underneath the cold running water, closed his eyes and then slowly brought his face into them.

Meanwhile, John had gone to the toilets to see if Sherlock was alright. He waited outside and knocked on the door. "Sherlock, is everything alright?" He asked, concerned, Sherlock just ignored him. Sherlock eventually brought his face up, and gradually let his hands slide down his face and as they gripped onto the sides of the sink he opened his eyes and looked into the mirror. He looked into it and wondered what was happening to him. What was wrong? Why was he having a hard time sleeping? Why was he having those horrible dreams? He closed his eyes and sighed, and then opened them once more to see the face in the mirror. It was the one from his dream. It was everywhere. He screamed. "How are you here?!" And he punched his fist into it. His hand bled a lot, and he had cracked the mirror. John heard him screaming so he knocked once again on the door, asking if everything was ok. Sherlock still didn't answer; he started to feel woozy and couldn't stand up right. He released one of his hands from the sink and started to fall about. He fell and whacked his head on the side of the sink. He lay on the floor, blood pouring from both his head and his hand. The cold tap still ran hard. The mirror was in pieces. He was unconscious.

John knocked a couple more times before deciding to enter. When he did, he saw Sherlock on the floor, quickly checked what had happened and then ran to get Lestrade. He and Lestrade went to aid Sherlock quickly, they got an ambulance and the paramedics took Sherlock into the ambulance where John sat with him as they went to the hospital.

John didn't understand what had happened. He thought Sherlock was just tired, but obviously it was more than that otherwise this wouldn't have happened. Then, he remembered the crack in the mirror and started to question it. Why was it there? Was it there before Sherlock even went in? There were all kinds of questions John wanted answers to, but he didn't have them, neither was he going to get them there and then, and maybe not even when Sherlock wakes up.


	2. Chapter 2

They arrived at the hospital; they gave Sherlock some morphine, treated him and then waited for him to wake up. John waited by Sherlock's bed for him to wake up. He just sat there; thinking. Thinking about everything, really. Everything that had happened, everything that was going to happen, and everything that didn't happen. He was feeling quite guilty for not spotting that something was wrong with his friend, or that he was acting strange. And he felt guilty for not barging into the toilets earlier to try and calm Sherlock down. Thoughts were running in his mind. He just wanted Sherlock to wake up.

The nurse came over to check if everyone was alright, Sherlock still wasn't awake. She asked a few questions and then she left. "Has she gone?" John heard a little whisper from Sherlock's bed. He looked up, Sherlock hadn't opened his eyes or anything, but he was now definitely awake.

"Uh… yeah." John replied.

"Good." Sherlock said, opening his eyes slowly and looking up at the ceiling. John wanted to ask Sherlock all of the questions he had been thinking about, but he didn't feel right asking them as soon as he had woken up, so he left it for a few hours. He didn't know what to say though.

"So, are you feeling alright?"

"Fine." There was an awkward silence for a few minutes. Sherlock coughed and then tried to ask John something. "John…"

"Yeah?"

"John, what happened?" Sherlock continued to look up at the ceiling. John didn't know how to answer, because he didn't know the answer. Sherlock was the one that was there, he should know.

"I don't really know; you went to the bathroom and you had a fit or something and you fell and hit your head on the sink."

"And my hand?" Sherlock asked, bringing his now bandaged hand up.

"I don't know anything about that, sorry." And he really was, he wanted to answer Sherlock's questions, but he was asking himself those questions. "Do you remember anything at all?"

"I vaguely remember falling, but that's it. Oh, wait; I also remember something about the mirror."

"Yes, the mirror! There was a crack in it, do you know why?"

"I… I think I punched it. Ah, that's what must've happened to my hand. Right."

"Why did you punch the mirror?" They had both started talking normally now.

"I don't really remember." Sherlock said in despair.

There was another deafening silence until the doctor came to check how Sherlock was doing. Alright, by the looks of things, but there seemed to be no logical reason why he fell which was a worry though. "Sherlock, did you have some sort of fit in the bathroom? Did you just collapse? Has this happened before, recently maybe?" The doctor was asking quite a lot of questions, which was annoying Sherlock seeing as he'd really only just woken up. John saw he was getting aggravated, so he answered the last ones for him.

"No, he hasn't. He has never had any sort of fit, he's healthy, but he hasn't been having any sleep apparently. For a week now."

"Why haven't you been sleeping?" Sherlock didn't want to answer this. The other questions seemed easier to answer now. He didn't want to tell anybody about the dreams.

"Uh… I don't really know, guess I just haven't." Sherlock said slowly and quietly. He didn't really seem alive; he was dosed up on a lot of morphine and his head was banging. He was as white as a sheet.

"Well, sometimes lack of sleep can be caused by stress or something? Depression?"

"Trust me, he's not depressed." John jumped in, and then he turned to face Sherlock. "Sherlock, could it be because of all the work you've done? The stress of it?"

"I don't get stressed because of my job." Sherlock huffed. He knew that they were going to try and get to the bottom of it, and they would keep trying to guess. He was considering telling them, about everything. He didn't want to, not at all, but it seemed easier than this. "Look, I've just been having some sort of bad dreams, that's it. That's all."

"Oh, alright." John said, sighing. He didn't know whether to believe Sherlock or not, since when did Sherlock have bad dreams? Since when did he lose sleep because of them? The doctor wrote it down on some notes and then left. John and Sherlock were once again alone.

"Sherlock is it ok if I just go to get a drink, I'll be back in a few minutes?" John asked, getting out of his seat. Sherlock just nodded and pretended not to care. But he did. He didn't want to be alone right now. He couldn't be alone. His head was killing him, and he was getting a horrible feeling in his hand. Alone was the one thing that always protected him, but not this time. This time he needed somebody there, to help him get through the pain, somebody to get him through these times, he knew that he could fall asleep if John wasn't there, talking to him. He didn't want to fall asleep, he didn't. He didn't want to see it again, not again, he couldn't. But, Sherlock wouldn't tell John this, so John smiled at him and left. Sherlock just lay against his pillow and waited for him to return.

John came back after ten minutes with two cups of coffee. He placed one on a tray that was attached to Sherlock's bed and then sat down with the other and started to take small sips. "Oh, thanks, but I'd rather not."

"Sherlock, you need to drink. Especially in the way you are."

"Oh, really? And what 'way' would that be?"

"Sherlock, you've just had a serious fall, please, drink." John looked at him with trusting eyes. Sherlock finally removed his eyes from the dull, white ceiling and looked at him. Sherlock knew he was a man he could trust with anything. He could trust this man with anything, including his life. He then realised that he should tell John about what was going on, he had to tell somebody, before it was all too late.

"John, I need to tell you something." Sherlock said, sighing and looking back up at the ceiling.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"It's about what happened…"


	3. Chapter 3

"About a week ago… exactly a week ago…" Sherlock was trying to get it out, but it was incredibly hard for him to say. He didn't want to say it; he knew that if he did it meant that it was real and that he was giving up. Obviously it was real and the truth had to come out sometime, but he didn't want it to be now. John waited patiently. He didn't want to rush Sherlock because he knew that then Sherlock might not tell him if he did that. "Do you remember reading about that man who died in prison a week ago?" John nodded, his expression was puzzled, and he didn't really see what this had to do with anything.

"The guy who killed himself?"

"Yes." Sherlock sighed. "He… he was my father." Sherlock closed his eyes tightly after he said it and a small tear appeared in his right eye. He didn't let John see it because he didn't want him to know how he felt. "He was framed, a long time ago. Put in prison. I used to visit him every week." Sherlock carried on. His heart was slowly breaking, but he didn't want John to know. John was truly shocked with this news. He didn't understand, but he believed that he was framed, and he could clearly tell that Sherlock was hurt. "I told him that I had to stop visiting him, just for a couple of days. But, I never had any time to see him, and I didn't see him in 2 months. Then, last I heard, he killed himself." John knew that Sherlock was, for some reason, blaming himself. He wanted to comfort him, but he didn't really know what to say.

"Sherlock, it's not your fault-" Sherlock turned to face John and opened his eyes quickly.

"I know it wasn't _my _fault!" But Sherlock did feel that way. He felt horrible for not going to see him. He knew his father was alone and desperate, but he wouldn't go and see him. He didn't really know why he wouldn't either. He turned back to face the ceiling and closed his eyes. John sighed in despair. He knew Sherlock was upset, and he didn't know how to help.

They sat in silence for about an hour. John was trying to figure out how to help his mourning friend, but his phone started to ring suddenly. Mycroft. What could he possibly want? Was he calling to see how his brother was? John got suspicious seeing as Mycroft wasn't like that at all. He told Sherlock he'd be a couple of minutes and went outside to answer the call. "Mycroft?"

"John, is Sherlock alright?" Mycroft still didn't sound that concerned, but there was obviously something going on otherwise, he wouldn't be calling.

"Yeah, uh… he's ok; he passed out at Scotland Yard. He hasn't had a lot of sleep or food or drink, that's probably the reason for it."

"Why hasn't he been sleeping?" It sounded as though Mycroft already knew the answer, but wanted to make sure.

"He said that your father died. A week ago." John's voice broke as he said it, because he did feel sympathetic for the both of them.

"Ah, yes. He and Sherlock were incredibly close."

"What about you?"

"Yes, I was also close, but not as close as he and Sherlock were. When he went into prison, Sherlock was devastated. He had tried to help him get out, but he was just a child. He'd still been trying, but nothing was working."

"He told me he had stopped visiting two moths ago, why?"

"He's Sherlock; he does things that can never be explained and won't be explained." John sighed because he knew this was true, but he wanted to know why, if Sherlock and his father were so close, he would just stop visiting.

"Sherlock's blaming himself for it, you know? For your father's death. He won't admit it, but he is."

"Of course he is. Make sure he is safe, John." John was annoyed at Mycroft for not coming to visit Sherlock himself or just coming to say hello or something, but he still agreed to looking after Sherlock, and he thought maybe Mycroft coming wasn't good for Sherlock; Mycroft and Sherlock didn't get on very well.

John hung the phone up and went back inside, to see Sherlock still in the same position as before. "Mycroft called." He said as he sat back down. Sherlock turned his head. Was he interested in what Mycroft had to say?

"Oh, what did he want?" Sherlock's tone was slightly raised to show he was a little interested and thought his brother cared.

"Just to see if you were alright. I told him what had happened." John didn't tell him about what Mycroft had told him about Sherlock's father. He didn't want Sherlock to get angry that Mycroft had shared these things. Sherlock shrugged and looked back up at the ceiling. He was actually happy to hear that Mycroft was concerned.

Night had fallen and John was incredibly tired; it had been such a long day, so much had gone on and everything he had learnt about Sherlock's past was strange for him, and he just wanted to close his eyes. He didn't know whether he should sleep or not. He didn't want to leave Sherlock to think or get worried about everything. So, for this reason, he tried to keep himself awake.

Sherlock was also extremely tired. It had been a long and disastrous day for him too. He lay in bed, thinking about everything that had happened, thinking about what he had told John and started to wonder if it was the right decision telling him everything, and what he was going to do. Then, his eyelids got increasingly heavier and they just closed themselves. Sherlock finally went to sleep.

He saw him once again. He was there, in the same place as before. Everything was the same, nothing ever changed, why? Why would nothing change? Why couldn't they be somewhere else? Was there something particularly special about this place? He saw a figure, stood by the door of the house. It didn't move, it just stood there, staring at everything. Then it started to walk closer and closer and closer and closer until Sherlock started mumbling in his sleep and he started to move his arms trying to push the figure away but it wasn't working and he started to pant and everything was driving him insane and it was all out of control and he couldn't take it. He tossed from side to side and he was shaking and sweating and he couldn't take much more. The mumbling got worse and he was calling for help and he didn't understand what was happening. John tapped him and shook him to wake him up; he saw Sherlock was in distress, he knew what was happening. Sherlock felt somebody shaking him and then, finally, after John had shuck him at least six times Sherlock shot up quickly. He opened his eyes wide and took a deep breath. "What... what happened? What happened?" He said, still continuing to pant. John calmed him down and managed to get Sherlock to lie back down onto the bed.

"Nothing, I think you were having another bad dream I guess. You were mumbling weird stuff and turning here, there and everywhere." John said, sitting back down in his chair. Sherlock sighed in despair. All he wanted to do was sleep, he wanted it badly, it was eleven at night and he hadn't slept in a week, he just wanted to rest his eyes, but he couldn't, because he saw a horrible world there and he couldn't bear it, and he knew that soon enough it would sink in with the real world because everything that happened there was eventually going to happen in reality. He couldn't escape anywhere; he couldn't hide from the truth anywhere, not even in the dream world. He just looked up at the ceiling and tried to resist the urge to sleep once more. John watched him and sighed, he felt sorry for his friend. He knew he wanted to sleep, and he knew he was upset and in denial. He knew that he was blaming himself for what had happened and he wasn't going to listen to people tell him otherwise. He knew that if Sherlock was upset about something, it must be bloody sad, nothing makes this emotionless machine hurt. But he was seeing a whole new side to Sherlock, a distressed, sentimental human being.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Sherlock was being discharged. John helped him get everything they had brought, which wasn't very much seeing as it was all such a rush. Then, the doctor came over and gave Sherlock some sleeping tablets. Sherlock didn't really care for them because he didn't like sleeping tablets, he didn't like any tablets, and he didn't think that they would work. John knew that Sherlock wasn't going to take them, but he took them from the doctor thinking he might be able to convince Sherlock to at least try.

They left in a hurry, Sherlock didn't want to stay in that place any longer, he just wanted to be at home so he could sit and relax, try and figure everything out and face reality. He was wondering if his father's actions were because of him or not. John didn't want him to think about it. He kept attempting to talk to Sherlock about other things like the sleeping pills and cases and the fact that Lestrade still wanted to discuss the old case. "Lestrade called." Sherlock looked at John while they both walked to get a taxi. "Yeah, he asked if everything was alright and he also asked if, when you're feeling alright, you would go and speak to him. About the case?"

"We can go now. Obviously we'll have to drop everything off at the apartment first, but then we can." Sherlock smiled at John. He had decided that this was a good way to preoccupy his mind. He won't have to think about everything that's going on, he can avoid it. Just for a little while anyway. John was slightly disappointed that Sherlock had agreed to see Lestrade right after he had been discharged. John was going to try and convince Sherlock to take the sleeping pills when they got back to the flat. But, obviously he felt a little happy for Sherlock because he was finally trying to take his mind off things and take a break. Well, what he calls a break.

They got into the cab and went back to the flat. Sherlock was feeling a lot better; he was practically back to himself in no time. But, he was still pretty tired and he was still getting a few headaches because of his head, and his right hand wasn't much use. They both dumped their things down onto the floor in the living room and sat down for a few minutes. John offered Sherlock a drink, and this time he agreed to it. As John made them, he started talking to Sherlock about the tablets. "Sherlock, don't you think you should at least try the tablets the doctor gave you? They'll honestly help you." Sherlock didn't even bother to acknowledge John. John sighed. He didn't know what to do; he knew that Sherlock wasn't going to take the pills, and he knew that he was incredibly tired but wasn't going to get any sleep. Should he put a pill in his drink? He didn't want to, he knew it was a stupid idea, but he wanted to help Sherlock. So, he broke the pill and put it into Sherlock's drink. He stirred the drink well before picking it from the counter and then handing it to Sherlock. "There you go."

"Thanks." Sherlock said, grabbing the mug from John. John sat down in the chair opposite to Sherlock and watched him. He didn't stare at him, he didn't want to make it obvious about what he had done, but he took glances to see if Sherlock was definitely drinking the beverage. He was.

The pill hadn't kicked in straight away, so after the drink, Sherlock rose from his chair and opened the door to get a taxi to Scotland Yard. John had forgotten about it, and was now regretting his decision to put the sleeping pill in Sherlock's drink. He tried to persuade Sherlock not to go, saying it was too soon and he needed to rest and relax, but Sherlock didn't care. Sherlock just wanted to take his mind off everything for a while. John finally gave in, but made sure he stood right behind him as they walked out of the flat and got into a taxi.

In the taxi, Sherlock started to feel incredibly tired. He kept closing his eyes for long periods of time, but then tried to keep them open because he didn't want to fall asleep. He didn't want to have the dreams again, he didn't. John was watching him, making sure he was alright. He could see the tablets were starting to kick in and suggested that they should go back to the flat and maybe get some rest, but Sherlock ignored him and insisted that they go, despite his state.

They got to Scotland Yard and John had to help Sherlock get out of the taxi because he was simply too tired. John paid the driver and then he walked Sherlock into the building. They slowly walked up the stairs and then to Lestrade's office. Once again he offered them a seat and they all sat down. Lestrade asked if Sherlock was alright, but he couldn't answer. "I... I'm..." He tried to speak, but he was falling asleep on the spot. "I'm..." He looked at John in desperation. John didn't know what Sherlock wanted. Did he want him to finish his sentence? Did he want him to take him back to the flat?

"John, is everything alright? Maybe you should take Sherlock back to the flat for a bit?" Lestrade suggested. John nodded and then looked at Sherlock who was practically asleep. John woke him up, but he wasn't properly awake, and helped him to walk back out of the building and into the taxi. In the taxi, Sherlock fell straight asleep; John had to more or less carry him into the flat. He took him to bed and threw him into it. Sherlock slept quite good, better than he had been doing the past week. He didn't have a dream about the things he had dreamt of nights before, which was good and it meant that he could finally rest and have some peace because everything had been driving him crazy. He hadn't been able to think properly, so a good rest meant that he would finally be able to clear his mind, focus on the important things. He slept all day and night.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock woke up the next morning puzzled. He didn't really remember falling asleep. He didn't remember much to be perfectly honest. He lifted his head and back from the bed and looked around at the walls. They seemed to be spinning for a moment, but he eventually got them to stop. "John?" He shouted and John came quickly in to see if Sherlock was alright. "What..." Sherlock shook his head to wake himself up properly. "What happened? When did I... did I fall asleep?" He looked up at John and John looked to him. He didn't know whether to tell him about putting the pills in his drink or not. Should he tell him the truth or just leave it? He might not even realise.

"You were extremely tired when you went to visit Lestrade, and he told you to go home and get some rest. You fell asleep in the taxi home so I brought you in and put you in bed. You slept all day." Sherlock just looked at him, confused for a second. Then he just nodded. He slowly kicked his legs to the side and sat at the edge of the bed. "Are you going to speak to Lestrade today, then?" John was concerned about Sherlock. He didn't know if he was mourning or not. Usually, when he's sad or something, he'll play his violin and not talk for ages, but this was different. He was talking, and he hadn't touched his violin. Not once. It hadn't been played in five days.

"I... I don't know. It depends how I feel." Sherlock said, gradually lifting his body from the bed and walking out of the room. John stood in the doorway for a moment and then followed Sherlock out. Sherlock had slumped himself on the sofa.

John made breakfast for the both of them. It was a full English. He handed the plate to Sherlock but he shook his head. "No, thanks." He stared at nothingness. John tried to persuade him to take the food, but Sherlock wasn't going to listen.

"Sherlock, what's wrong? How are you feeling?"

"Physically or mentally?" Sherlock didn't even bother to look at John; he was just staring into space thinking about everything.

"Both."

"Well, my heads still hurting and my hand isn't a lot of use to me which is too bad because I write with this hand and shoot. Mentally I am..." He didn't know how to answer. He wanted to say hurt and broken inside. He wanted to say he felt guilty for what had happened. He wanted to say so much but he didn't feel as though he should or could. "Mentally I am alright." He mumbled. John sighed.

"Sherlock, why don't you just tell me the truth?" John knew that Sherlock was lying. Sherlock assumed he was a good liar, but the truth is, he wasn't.

"The truth? The truth is that I am alright, John. You don't have to worry, I am perfectly fine. And you can tell Mycroft, Molly and Lestrade that too."

"What?" John raised his eyebrow because he didn't really understand what Sherlock was talking about.

"They've been sending you a lot of texts. Weird that Mycroft has as well. Just tell them that I'm fine."

"They're just worried about you, there's no need to be so harsh." Sherlock huffed and faced John.

"This is my private life. I don't want them to know about it. It's already bad enough you know, and Mycroft knows a lot." John didn't reply.

"Fine, I'll tell them."

"Thank you." Sherlock looked back into space and slowly drifted off into nothing. He just kept thinking about his father and what he did. He kept blaming himself, constantly. John told him over and over not to blame himself, but Sherlock just said he wasn't and ignored him. John was annoyed because Sherlock wouldn't just admit to being upset, why couldn't he just be like a normal human being?

A few hours of doing nothing later, there was a knock on the door. John looked to Sherlock, but Sherlock was too busy trying not to care and pretending not to hear it to bother to get up, so of course John went. It was Mycroft. "Mycroft, what are you doing here?" John's tone was surprised. And he was. Very surprised. Sherlock had heard Mycroft's name and he didn't know what to do or what to think. Why was Mycroft here? Had John called him to check on him? What was going on?

"John, is Sherlock here?"

"Of course, do you want to speak to him?" Sherlock was praying that he didn't. He didn't want to face people right now, not in the state he was in. He didn't want anybody to see him the way he was. And he knew Mycroft would be able to tell he was hurt and depressed.

"If you wouldn't mind." Sherlock hoped John wouldn't be stupid enough to just let Mycroft in. He hoped that John knew he was too upset to talk to anyone.

"He's in the living room." John directed Mycroft up the stairs and then followed. They both walked in to see Sherlock lying on the sofa with his eyes wide open, his arms relaxed by his side and his body lay like a towel on the sofa.

"Ah Mycroft, how nice it is to see you." Sherlock said sarcastically. Mycroft walked slowly around the room and looked at the violin.

"Your violin hasn't been touched, I see."

"Well I couldn't really play it with this, could I?" Sherlock raised his right hand.

"Sherlock, it hasn't been played in a while. You did that yesterday." Mycroft looked at him, seriously. Sherlock tried to ignore him, but John also tried to get Sherlock to talk. "Sherlock, we need to talk." Mycroft almost sounded sympathetic.

"About?"

"You know exactly what we need to talk about." Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes tightly, hoping he was in a dream. But, he wasn't. He had to face reality sooner or later, now it was coming to get him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys, sorry it's been so long since I posted. My internet went off, but I have completed the story now, so enjoy :)**

* * *

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I _want _to talk about it." Sherlock huffed, trying to ignore Mycroft. He knew Mycroft was still going to talk about it, whether Sherlock liked it or not.

"Sherlock, I don't care whether you don't _want _to talk about it. Clearly we _need_ to talk about it. How are you? _Really_?" Mycroft pulled up the chair from the desk to sit near the sofa. Sherlock didn't even bother to look at him, he didn't want to do anything, especially talk about what had happened.

"I'm fine." He shrugged. Both Mycroft and John were not convinced. John sat on his chair, and leaned towards the sofa.

"Sherlock, if you were 'fine' then what happened to your hand wouldn't have happened. You wouldn't have gone to hospital. Everything would be normal." John intervened. Sherlock was a little annoyed with John; John knew Sherlock wouldn't want to talk about things, he knew that he was clearly finding everything hard to cope and this wasn't helping.

"Why did you stop visiting father?" Mycroft asked. There was a slight sense of sympathy in his voice as he spoke to Sherlock. Sherlock stopped for a minute. He turned his head and looked straight at Mycroft. He didn't want to tell him why.

"I don't really think that's any business of yours, do you?" He started to go red and turned back to face the wall. Mycroft sighed and hung his head down. He wiped his face with both his hands and then brought it up as he rested his hands on his knees.

"It wasn't your fault. You do know that, don't you? What he did, it had nothing to do with you not going to see him, and you have to believe it." Sherlock didn't bother to respond. He didn't really know how.

Mycroft tried everything to try and get Sherlock to communicate, but nothing would work. Sherlock would either not answer or reply with a sarcastic comment. Mycroft sighed and stood up. He picked up the chair and placed it back under the desk. He shook John's hand and left. John followed him out. "Thanks for trying." John said, shaking Mycroft's hand once again, because he really was grateful. Mycroft nodded.

"John, if he won't talk to anybody, I think you know what we need to do." Mycroft regretted saying it, but it was the truth.

"I'm sure he'll tell us something eventually." John could only hope. He didn't want to go to the length Mycroft was prepared to go, because he had been through that himself and he knew how horrible it was. He knew Sherlock would hate it even more.

"Yes, but if he doesn't, we will have to." John just nodded in agreement, but he really didn't want it to have to come to that. He wished Sherlock would just tell someone how he felt. Why did he have to be so stubborn?

Mycroft walked away and John went back up to the flat. He sat down in his armchair and just looked at Sherlock for a second; just wondering what was going on his head. "Sherlock, what are you thinking about?" Sherlock looked over at him. He sat up on the chair, and buried his head in his hands. "Sherlock?"

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I said I don't know!" Sherlock screamed, pulling his hands from his face. John didn't reply. He was shocked. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" Sherlock sighed, burying his face once again in his hands.

"Mycroft's right, you know? It isn't your fault, honestly." Sherlock heard everything John said, but it hadn't meant a thing to him. He did feel guilty, and just because people told him not to, it didn't mean he would feel less responsible.

John got out of his seat after watching Sherlock lie on the sofa for another hour and looked into the fridge. There was nothing, as per usual. He was so hungry; his stomach was like a dragon grumbling. "Fancy going out for something to eat?" He called to Sherlock.

"I… no thanks." He replied, hopelessly. John wanted to persuade him, but he knew he was a lost cause. He grabbed his coat, and told Sherlock he would be a couple of hours, he just had to eat something. He told him he would bring him something back, and then he left. He felt slightly awful for leaving Sherlock in the state he was in, but he needed to eat something.


	7. Chapter 7

When John came back, Mrs Hudson ran to him. "Sherlock's gone. I don't know where, he just left." She was incredibly distressed and scared. She didn't know what Sherlock would do if left alone, especially when he was like he was. At this point, John was getting worried as well. He held her arms and convinced her everything would be alright, and that he would go and look for him. So, he quickly ran outside to grab a taxi.

He got into the taxi and thought about Sherlock. Where would he go? What would he do? "St Bart's please." He shouted to the driver, remembering what had happened the last time Sherlock was troubled. He was so worried and terrified about what Sherlock would do. He wasn't totally convinced Sherlock would end everything, but then again, this wasn't the Sherlock he knew. This was the human inside of Sherlock.

They reached St Bart's. John paid the driver and ran into the building frantically. First, he went to the lab. There was no sign, then, he went to the morgue. He found Sherlock and Molly. They were just talking. Everyone seemed to be fine. John opened the door slowly and he awkwardly walked in. "Mrs Hudson got worried. She asked me… asked me to find you." John said, panting a little because of the running he had done.

"Thank you, Molly." Sherlock smiled at her and then turned to John. "Don't worry, I'm going home now." Sherlock started to walk away. John smiled at Molly and mouthed 'what just happened?' to her.

"We were talking about his dad. He told me what happened." She whispered. By now, Sherlock had left the room.

"What was he saying exactly?" John asked, in the hope he had mentioned why he stopped visiting him.

"Just that he died - killed himself. He just told me how he felt."

"What? Since when did Sherlock tell people about his emotions?"

"I was confused as well. John, I really think he needs a friend right now." Molly smiled at John, and John smiled back. He was happy to hear that Sherlock had told somebody how he felt, but he was extremely worried about him; Sherlock never told anyone how he felt, he was too stubborn. He never wanted to admit he cared about anyone or anything. Why was this changing?

Both John and Sherlock got a taxi home. Neither of them said a word to each other. They got into the flat, Sherlock practically threw his coat and scarf anywhere and then sat down at his desk. He put his hands in prayer position and closed his eyes. He wasn't thinking; he was trying to forget about everything, clear his mind. John just sat down. He was trying to figure Sherlock out. "John… John, I'm not… I'm not coping." Sherlock said, trying to confide in John. John sat down, and listened to him. "I can't take it. But… but I don't know what I'm meant to do."

"Maybe you should talk to somebody about it?" John thought of himself, but he also thought about maybe a therapist, like Mycroft had suggested.

"Are you talking about a therapist? John, you know I won't go to one of them." Sherlock looked at John as if he was stupid. Why would he even suggest that? John shook his head.

"Well you need to talk to somebody Sherlock! Because right now we're all in the dark. Don't tell me you can't cope and that you don't know what to do and then tell me you won't talk to anyone!" John shouted.

"But… but I can't, John. I honestly can't. There are things… things that I can't say. Things that shouldn't be said." Sherlock sighed. He knew John was right, but he couldn't tell anybody anything, because it was his.

"Sherlock, why don't you get some sleep? It's been a long day, for the both of us. Just get some rest, and we'll talk about it tomorrow." John was giving up. He had no more suggestions. He didn't know how to help his troubled flat mate. Sherlock sighed, and walked to bed. "Aren't you going to take your sleeping pills?" John showed him the packet. Sherlock ignored him and went to bed. John went to his flat above Sherlock's and also went to bed.


	8. Chapter 8

John came down to Sherlock's flat in the morning. He was ready to talk to Sherlock. To listen to everything he needed to say, and respect his privacy for the other things. He walked into the living room, and Sherlock didn't appear to be there. Maybe he was still asleep. John waited in the living room for an hour, but still, nothing. He was getting a little curious now. What was Sherlock doing? He knocked on the door to Sherlock's bedroom. There was no answer. He knocked once again, opening the door a crack. "Sherlock, are you alright?" Still no reply. John opened the door, scanned the room and saw Sherlock shaking in the corner of the room. Sherlock had his knees close to his chest and his arms were wrapped around them. He had his head close to his knees. John quickly went over to Sherlock and checked if he was alright. "Sherlock, what happened?" Sherlock didn't reply. He just squeezed his eyes shut and continued to shake. John tried to help him up and maybe get him back into bed, but Sherlock screamed at him to stay away. So, John walked out of the room and quickly picked up the phone. He called Mycroft. "Mycroft, it's Sherlock. He's just sort of shaking and screaming."

"I'm on my way." Mycroft was genuinely concerned. He quickly put down the phone and went to see what was wrong with his brother.

When he got there, John took him into Sherlock's room. Sherlock was still the way he was before. Mycroft approached him slowly with his right hand out to reassure him everything was safe. He kneeled down and rested his hand down to the floor. "Sherlock, what is it? What's happened?" Sherlock didn't reply, he couldn't. He was too hurt or scared or something, nobody could tell. "What was it? Did something happen?" Still, Sherlock wouldn't answer. Mycroft looked up to John and they both looked at each other in desperation. Mycroft turned back to Sherlock. "Why don't you get some more rest?" He turned to John. "We need to get him to sleep." John went to get the sleeping pills. He put them into a glass of water and handed Mycroft the drink. He told him what was in it, and Mycroft gave it to Sherlock. At first, Sherlock wouldn't take it. However, Mycroft managed to force it down him. He felt bad, but Sherlock needed to sleep.

Eventually, Sherlock fell asleep and Mycroft and John put him into bed and left the room. "John, you know what we need to do." John sighed. He knew it was the right thing to do, but he didn't want it.

"But he won't go to a therapist, he's said."

"John, he doesn't really have a choice anymore. Not in that state. Trust me, I know somebody good. Sherlock will be fine." John nodded. "Just make sure he's alright, and make sure you help him." John knew Mycroft was incredibly concerned about his brother. It felt quite strange, that he was finally seeing human sides to both Sherlock and Mycroft.

Mycroft left, and John stayed and waited in the living room for Sherlock to wake.


	9. Chapter 9

John waited nervously in the living room for Sherlock to wake. He didn't know what he was going to say. He was extremely concerned about Sherlock. He had absolutely no idea what was going on his crazy mind. Yes, sometimes it could be extraordinary, but now it was just a big ball of madness. John thought he was going to see the sentimental, human side of Sherlock, but this wasn't normal. He had lost his father, and John had taken that into consideration, but when he thought Sherlock was dead he wasn't like this. He did have bad dreams, and he suffered, but this was totally different. Sherlock was going insane, he felt as though he was alone.

Sherlock stammered out of bed and walked into the living room rubbing his left eye and yawning. John lifted his head from a newspaper he had found and looked up at him. Sherlock knew what was coming; a whole lot of questions. He wasn't ready to answer them though. "What happened?" He asked, throwing himself onto the sofa and looking straight at John. John didn't really know how to explain it. "You're going crazy" Didn't really sound right, and Sherlock wouldn't tell him anything if he said that. John sighed and put the newspaper down gently onto the coffee table.

"Well, I don't really know… you kind of had a fit or something. You were balled up in the corner of your room shaking. You wouldn't speak, just screamed at me to go away. Mycroft had to come and try and calm you down, it didn't work, so we gave you the sleeping pills." Sherlock just nodded. He looked like he was going to shout because they had given him the pills that he specifically asked not to have. However, Sherlock said something completely unexpected.

"Thank you." John grinned a little because he had helped Sherlock, and Sherlock was finally grateful.

"Do you want anything to eat?" John changed the subject because he could see Sherlock was not in the mood to talk about anything right now.

"No… no thanks." Sherlock yawned more. He was still a little tired.

Later in the day, Lestrade came over. Just to see if Sherlock was alright. Oh, and to see if he'd help on a case. "Sherlock, how are you? How's the hand?"

"I'm fine, as is my hand… sort of…"

"That's good, I guess." Lestrade smiled, he looked at John who was watching him because he knew exactly what Lestrade wanted and he found it so incredibly insensitive. Yes, Sherlock was an insensitive human being, but Lestrade should know better. Lestrade ignored him and carried on to ask Sherlock about the case. "Listen; there's been this strange case. It's quite interesting actually. I was wondering if you'd come?" Sherlock looked at him as if Lestrade was joking. Lestrade was puzzled by his expression. "What?"

"I'm sorry, but it clearly hasn't occurred to you that I might want to rest? Or the fact I might be busy with other things? I have had a lot of other things on my mind recently. Plus, I won't be much use with one working hand. So, I'm sorry, but the answer is no." Both John and Lestrade were confused by his reply. Since when did Sherlock give up a case because he was hurt or something? Lestrade just nodded.

"Yes, sorry, quite insensitive of me really."

"Yes, it was." Sherlock responded quickly and huffed. He buried his head in his hands and left John to walk Lestrade out.

At the door, John told Lestrade why Sherlock was being the way he was. All he said was that his dad had died; he didn't give him any details. Lestrade understood completely and asked if they needed anything. John thought of telling him that they did, and they needed a lot of it, but he didn't. Lestrade told him to call him if he did, but John knew he probably wouldn't. Lestrade went back to Scotland Yard and John went back into the flat and sat down. Sherlock and John didn't really talk to each other a lot. John would often ask him if he wanted to eat or drink, but the answer was always no.


	10. Chapter 10

"Wait a minute," Sherlock looked up at John, as did John to Sherlock. "You said Mycroft came to calm me down?"

"Yes. What has that got to do with anything?"

"Why did Mycroft come?"

"He's worried about you, I guess. He did seem quite worried and he is, Sherlock." Sherlock just nodded and they both got off the subject of Mycroft. John wanted to tell him about Mycroft's proposal though. "Sherlock, you know you _are _going to have to talk to somebody? What happened, it isn't normal. You might feel alright now, but it _could _happen again and maybe more severely this time."

"This has got 'Mycroft' and 'therapist' written all over it. Was it him? Did he tell you I needed to go to one?"

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing! I don't need to see a bloody therapist."

"Then talk to somebody! You haven't actually told anybody anything! Nobody understands what is going on with you anymore, Sherlock. We are all worried, confused, and some people are even scared to be around you anymore because you're acting so strangely." Sherlock was shocked to hear this from John, because he didn't expect John to stand up to him like that, but he had and Sherlock didn't know how to respond.

"What would I say though? What would I tell them?" Sherlock said in desperation.

"Just explain to them what you're going through. Tell them how it makes you feel and what's going on inside your bloody head. You need to do _something, _Sherlock. I honestly believe a therapist will help you."

"What, like they helped you?" Sherlock didn't actually realise what he had said until he did. It just sort of came out. John didn't know what to say. The vane in his head popped out and his face went red like a strawberry. He stood up and pointed at Sherlock. He wanted to scream at him, but he didn't know what to say because, in a way, Sherlock was right. He just huffed and stormed out of the flat, not even telling Sherlock where he was going. Sherlock sighed and just lay back against the sofa.


	11. Chapter 11

John came back in the morning. He felt quite bad for just walking out on Sherlock, but he was asking for it. John was only trying to help him, if Sherlock wasn't so annoying and stubborn, they wouldn't have these sorts of problems.

He went in ready to either apologise or be apologised to. He didn't see Sherlock in the room though. He thought maybe what had happened before had happened again. So, he quickly ran into Sherlock's room and looked everywhere. However, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John hurriedly went to see if Mrs Hudson knew where he was, she told him Lestrade had been round and they went out together. "Oh, he must have taken that Goddamn case! I do hate him sometimes!" John shouted, not necessarily speaking to Mrs Hudson, just to himself really. He ran out of the flat speedily and got a cab. "Scotland Yard please." He almost shouted at the driver. He didn't know if they'd definitely be there, but if they weren't he could try and find out where they were.

He got to Scotland Yard and ran frantically inside. He looked everywhere but couldn't see Sherlock or Lestrade. Suddenly, his phone started to ring, it was Lestrade thank God. John quickly picked up the phone and answered. He was still trying to catch his breath after all the crazy running. "John, did Sherlock take anything this morning?" Lestrade asked John straight away. John raised an eyebrow with confusion.

"Like what? What are you talking about?"

"I think he's taken something. He's acting absolutely barmy! He's not concentrated on the case, he's falling over a lot and he is getting a little overexcited with things." John sighed. If he found out Sherlock had taken something, he didn't know what he'd do. Why would Sherlock do it again? John didn't have time to ask these questions. He told Lestrade he'd hurry to get him, and hung up the phone. Once again he ran to get a taxi to Lestrade and Sherlock.

He got to the crime scene and walked over to Lestrade. Lestrade told him every single detail, John just kept sighing. He was so disappointed; he thought Sherlock was over the drugs. Clearly not anymore. When Lestrade finished, John went over to Sherlock. "Sherlock… Sherlock, I think you'd better come back to the flat." Sherlock looked at him. Sherlock's eyes were half closed, and he was so pale. He was struggling to stand up straight as well. "Lestrade asked me if you've taken anything. Have you?" Sherlock looked at him; he thought John was having a laugh. He hadn't touched drugs for a long time now, and John knew that.

"John, just because I am upset, doesn't mean I… doesn't mean I have taken… taken…" Before Sherlock finished, his eyes turned backwards into his head and he collapsed. John caught him quickly and sat him down on a chair. Lestrade and he woke Sherlock up and gave him some water to refresh him.

"Sherlock, are you sure you haven't taken anything?" John looked right into Sherlock's eyes, so he could tell if Sherlock was lying or not. Sherlock was telling the truth before though, he hadn't taken anything.

"I swear. I just haven't had enough to eat, probably." John believed Sherlock was telling the truth, because he hadn't had a lot to eat so it could possibly be because of that. Lestrade also believed him, and he sent him home to get something to eat so that it wouldn't happen again. Sherlock was quite annoyed to leave, but he was a bit relieved as well.


	12. Chapter 12

John was so relieved. Yes, Sherlock was only eating a small meal, but it was still something. Sherlock was as well, even though he didn't like to admit. He thanked John for it and then started looking at a few notes he had made at the case. John leaned over him to peer at them. "Sherlock, do you really think it's best to be doing that now?"

"When else would be 'best to do it'? When to murder's got another victim? When they've left town? What do you suggest?" Sherlock said sarcastically. John felt he was back to his normal self finally. He thought maybe he wouldn't have to go to a therapist now and they could just go on as normal.

"What's it about, anyway?" John looked confused at the notes, not being able to read Sherlock's scruffy handwriting because it had been written with his left hand, and when he could it didn't really make much sense.

"A girl was murdered at her house. Apparently, there was no one else in there, and everything was sealed. It's not a suicide because she lived a 'good life' according to her friends and family, and she would never want to commit suicide." Sherlock studied his notes closely, trying to figure it all out. John could almost see the cogs inside Sherlock's head moving around again.

It had been an hour and Sherlock still didn't know anything more than everyone else knew. John had tried to help, but he didn't understand any of it either. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm sorry about yesterday by the way."

"Oh, don't be, it was my fault." Sherlock continued to look at his notes, but his tone was sincere and John was happy because of Sherlock, but also a little worried. If anyone else had apologised to him, he would be grateful and they would leave it at that. However, this was Sherlock. When did he ever apologise to anyone? It was so out of character. What was going on? John decided not to question Sherlock, he just thanked him and left it at that. "Are you considering a therapist?" John had to ask, he knew it was a long shot, but maybe Sherlock was.

"I am not. I know my brother probably is though, and he has one in mind, he texted me."

"Are you going to see him?"

"I don't know. Probably not, we'll have to see." John just nodded.

Night came, and Sherlock was still no closer to finding out who had done it. John had made him some tea, which he drank half of which was quite good for him. "Are you going to bed now?" John asked Sherlock, holding Sherlock's sleeping pills in his hand.

"No."

"Don't you think you need some rest? You can come back to that tomorrow."

"By tomorrow he could have killed somebody else."

"Since when do you care about the victims?" Sherlock looked at John. He knew what he thought of him, he knew what everybody thought about him.

"I don't… I just don't want anybody thinking I'm being slow." Sherlock lied; he did actually care a little about the victims. John knew he was lying, but didn't bother arguing.

"Sherlock just get some sleep."

"John, I said no." Sherlock wasn't going to argue with John, he had decided.

"Right, well is it alright if I go?" Sherlock nodded, and John left the pills by Sherlock's desk and left.

Sherlock kept trying to work, but he couldn't. He was incredibly tired. The sleeping pills kept staring at him, he tried to resist the urge to take them so he could work, but the temptation was getting worse. He eventually gave in and took one. He threw himself down onto his bed and closed his eyes and slowly drifted off.


	13. Chapter 13

John went down to Sherlock's flat in the morning. He walked in and found Sherlock half asleep on his desk. Sherlock was trying to hold his head up with his hands, but it just kept falling to the cold surface of the desk. "Late night?" John asked as he sat down onto an armchair.

"Didn't get any sleep." Sherlock sort of mumbled as he tried to open his eyes once again. His eyelids were so heavy, he couldn't keep them open.

"Didn't you take the pills?" John picked up another newspaper from the table and looked at the headlines. It wasn't really anything of importance to him, but he still read it.

"I did actually, but they only worked for about an hour."

"Right, right. Did you have another dream?" John already knew the answer. Sherlock just sort of shrugged and moved his hands slowly on the desk and rested his head down. John didn't notice straight away; he was too busy reading the uninteresting newspaper. However, he eventually looked over and saw Sherlock half dead on the desk. "Sherlock, just go to bed."

"No." Sherlock mumbled, hardly even moving anything as he spoke. John just let him do what he wanted.

Suddenly, John's phone started to go off which woke Sherlock up. He jumped up slightly and sighed. He wanted to sleep so badly, but he just couldn't. He picked up some of the notes and tried to read them, but he started seeing double and he couldn't keep his eyes open for a long period of time. "That was Mycroft."

"Huh?" Sherlock grunted.

"He said he has booked you an appointment to see the therapist, Mr Powers, tomorrow at 9?"

"Fine..." Sherlock was half asleep when he said it, so John assumed it was just because he was tired he had agreed to it. He was quite shocked Sherlock had given in so easily, what was he doing? Was he genuinely in need of help or did he have some weird plan of some sorts?

"Wait, what did you just say?"

"I said fine. I thought you were an idiot, I didn't know you were deaf as well." Sherlock said sarcastically, once again placing his head down onto the desk. John just laughed sarcastically and went over to Sherlock.

"Sherlock will you please just go to bed?"

"Fine!" Sherlock pulled out his chair and tried to stand up, but he fell flat on his face. He let out a small cry and John quickly helped him up and walked him to his bed. Sherlock soon went to sleep.

John waited for Sherlock to wake; he wanted to talk about him going to see a therapist. He wanted to know if Sherlock was actually serious about going.

Sherlock got up only 2 hours later. He looked a lot better than he did that morning. He sat down on the desk chair and started looking over the notes properly. "Sherlock, are you serious about going to see a therapist?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock turned to face him.

"Well, you did say you didn't want to see one."

"John, first of all, you know I don't make jokes often. Secondly, I clearly need some sort of help, and maybe they can at least give me something that will help me help myself because they are too incompetent to actually figure anything out themselves. And, finally, you said I needed to speak to somebody, so I will." John was shocked to hear Sherlock say all of that, especially the fact that it was because he had said something, so Sherlock was actually listening to him.

Later that day, Sherlock and John had been over to Scotland Yard to explain to Lestrade the case. Sherlock had finally figured it out and told him everything. Lestrade still got impressed when Sherlock figured it out, even if it was something simple. Lestrade was very sympathetic towards Sherlock, which John had specifically asked him not to be because then Sherlock would know John had told him. So, in the taxi home, Sherlock asked John if he had told Lestrade anything. John tried to lie, but he was a terrible liar. He confessed to telling Lestrade just that his father had died, and that that was it. Sherlock didn't get angry, because, in a way, he was relieved. That way people would get off his back for a while about everything.


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning, Sherlock woke at 8. He had been awake most of the night because of the dreams, but he was able to get another hour sleep before waking up. John was already sat in the living room, waiting. Sherlock got fully dressed and after about 5 minutes, he went and sat down. John had already made him some breakfast and a drink. "Thanks, John, but no thanks." Sherlock said, looking at the food disgustingly. John just sighed and took the plate, but Sherlock kept the drink.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" John asked, sitting down.

"Not really."

"Well, you'll be able to tell Mr Powers. Are you ready for the appointment?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" John just shrugged and then Sherlock stood up. "I'd better get going."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, it's alright." Sherlock sort of sighed as he walked out the door. He called over a taxi and got into it. He was quite worried actually of what he was going to say, he knew he couldn't mention certain things.

Mr Powers invited Sherlock to sit down, which he did. He offered him a beverage, but Sherlock refused and insisted they just got on with it. "So, Sherlock, how are you feeling?" Mr Powers sounded very sympathetic and tilted his head to side as he sort of pushed himself forward.

"I am doing alright. I'm sure my brother has told you everything."

"Most things, but he doesn't know how you feel. Only you know that."

"Listen, I honestly don't know what you are hoping to get out of me because I am not feeling anything. I am doing fine. Yes, I'll admit I have lost a bit of sleep over some bad dreams, but they will eventually go."

"If that's what you think, why are you here?"

"I was practically forced to come and see you. I honestly don't know what you want me to tell you."

"Well, how are you feeling because of the recent death of your father? Your brother tells me you are blaming yourself for it?"

"No, I am not."

"He told me that you feel it's got something to do with you not going to visit your father for two months. Why was that?"

"I don't really think that's any of your concern."

"Sherlock, your brother told me you had some sort of episode because of these 'dreams'. They are clearly affecting your mental health, you do need help and I am willing to give it to you. You do understand you can trust me, don't you? All I asked is why you stopped visiting him."

"Personal issues." Sherlock didn't trust him. He didn't even tell John why he had stopped visiting his father, why would he tell a complete stranger?

"Were you ever going to visit him after that?" Sherlock was getting frustrated. He couldn't tell anybody why he stopped visiting his father, he didn't want to. He got up from his chair and walked over to the door. "Was it the fact that you weren't able to get him out of there? You didn't want to tell him you had given up, so you left him?" Sherlock walked out of the door and ran out of the building. He sat outside against the wall and closed his eyes tightly. He had started to see the images once again and it was driving him crazy. He kept telling them to stop, and he then buried his head into his knees.

After an hour, John wondered where Sherlock was, so he called him. "Sherlock, what's going on?" Sherlock had answered the phone, but he wasn't actually speaking. John could hear somebody else though, their voice sounded familiar. "Sherlock, is that you?" Somebody picked up the phone and answered.

"No, it's Mycroft. Sherlock's in hospital, once again."

"Oh Christ, what's happened?"

"We don't know, Mr Powers found him outside of the building, he had passed out apparently."

"What's going on now, how is he?"

"He's not awake, but he's alright."

"Right, I'm on my way." John said as he grabbed his coat and ran frantically out of the flat to get a taxi.


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock woke up in a hospital bed. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. He recognised it from the first time he was there. He gradually turned his head to see John sat by his side. "What... what happened?" he asked, opening his eyes wider.

"Mr Powers found you outside of the building; he said you'd passed out." Mycroft said. Sherlock turned to his left to see Mycroft stood there. "He said you wouldn't cooperate with him, and you were uncomfortable with the questions he asked." Sherlock sighed and decided to look back up at the ceiling.

"Sherlock, you said you would get some help. Why didn't you answer his questions?" John asked him.

"Because he was asking me about the 2 months I didn't visit!" Sherlock shouted.

"Why didn't you just tell him?" Mycroft was confused.

"He thinks it's because I gave up, trying to get him out I mean. He said it was because I couldn't bear to tell him that I had given up on him." Both John and Mycroft sighed.

"Was that the reason, Sherlock?" John asked him. Sherlock turned to face him. He was shocked that John would even suggest the idea.

"No, of course that wasn't the reason. I wouldn't give up." Sherlock looked back up at the ceiling, Mycroft and John didn't know what to do.

Mycroft stayed for about 2 hours before having to go back to work. Neither he nor Sherlock said a word to each other. John didn't really talk to them either. When he left, Sherlock stayed staring at the ceiling, waiting for the doctor to tell him he was able to go home.

"Sherlock, you need to tell somebody something; you are not acting normal, even for yourself. Just give somebody a clue about what is going on." Sherlock sighed and turned to face John. John was waiting for an explanation, and this time he wasn't going to leave without one.

"John... the reason I stopped visiting my father was because... it was because..." Sherlock struggled to speak, but John waited patiently for the answer. "It was because he _was_ guilty. He _had _murdered the girl. He told me that day, the day I stopped visiting. I asked him for a reason, but he never told me why." John was speechless; how do you respond to that?

"Does Mycroft know?"

"I expect not, unless someone else told him."

"You should tell him. He needs to know too."

"How?"

"I'll call him, tell him to come over." Before Sherlock could say otherwise, John quickly rang Mycroft.

Mycroft came as quickly as he could. John left them both alone. "John tells me you have news?"

"Yes, it's about everything."


	16. Chapter 16

"Yes?" Mycroft asked as he sat down. Sherlock gulped hard, he didn't really know how to start.

"He did it." Sherlock just blurted it out; he had no other way to say it.

"Who did what?" Mycroft was confused.

"Our father, he killed her."

"Ah. I knew you had found out." Mycroft sighed. Sherlock sat up and looked confused at Mycroft.

"What, you knew?!" Mycroft nodded.

"I didn't want to tell you because you were so close. I didn't know he would tell you."

"Well he did!" Sherlock was incredibly discombobulated with the fact that his father would tell Mycroft the truth, but not him. "That's why I stopped visiting him. That's why he killed himself."

"Sherlock, stop blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault; he probably couldn't live with the guilt."

"Yes, but I knew that, so why didn't I visit him and try to help him?"

"Because you found out he killed her. He wasn't the man you thought he was, and that broke you." Sherlock was puzzled by what Mycroft just said; it was sympathetic. "Sherlock, please talk to Mr Powers. You are clearly not coping with this, you need help."

"I don't need help! I will figure this out." Sherlock shouted at Mycroft, still angry at the fact he already knew and never thought to tell him.

"I'm worried about you; you know what happened last time something bad happened?" Sherlock nodded. "We can't let that happen again, please go and see Mr Powers."

"No, I refuse."

"Just think about it." Mycroft said as he left the room. He spoke to John about everything on the way out and John told him he would speak to Sherlock.

When John came back, the doctor told Sherlock he was being discharged and was free to go home. John helped Sherlock get ready to leave the hospital and then they left. Sherlock was happy to leave the hospital because he did hate that place. But, he hated every place now. He just felt so sad and depressed. He was also extremely tired but he didn't know what he could do. Then, he had an idea.


	17. Chapter 17

They both sat themselves down straight away after getting into the flat. Sherlock knew he needed to do something to help him relax and maybe help him sleep, but he also knew it was stupid. He just wanted to smoke. He was doing very well though, he hadn't had a cigarette in a long time now, but he felt as though it would really help him. He told John he was going to go and get some air, and he quickly went outside and pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket. As he was about to light it, a voice appeared from behind him. "So, you needed to get some air?" It was John. Mycroft had warned John about this, and he had worried Sherlock might do worse than smoke, so John knew he had to keep his eye on him. "You don't need the cigarettes." Sherlock turned to face John and he sighed. He knew John was right, but what else could he have? Cigarettes calmed him down, they made him relax, and everything would just stop for a few minutes like nothing ever happened. "Why won't you just talk to somebody? This is what I really don't understand about you; you are an extremely intelligent human being, yet you won't ever talk to anybody even though you know that's best for you. You will smoke yourself to death instead. Or just go insane, like you have been doing. So, go ahead. Smoke that if you really want to, but I guarantee everything you are feeling now will still be there all your life. At least if you talk to somebody you can stop them." John turned and walked back inside. He pretended to walk up the stairs, but he peered behind the door to see if Sherlock would actually listen to him. Sherlock lit the cigarette, but only for a few seconds, then he decided John was right. He did need help, and he needed it fast. He wasn't himself anymore. He threw the cigarette onto the floor and went back inside. John quickly ran into the flat before Sherlock came in so he didn't know he was watching him.

Sherlock had finally got a few hours sleep. He decided to go to bed after nearly collapsing because he was so tired. When he went back into the living room, he saw John just reading another newspaper. Sherlock sat down in front of him and John placed his newspaper onto the table. "So, have you decided what you're going to do?" John asked as he placed one arm onto the arm of the chair and the other under his chin. Sherlock put his face into his hands and sighed. He gradually pulled them down and inhaled deeply.

He exhaled and told John his decision "will you ask... ask Mycroft when I need to go and see Mr Powers?" John smiled and nodded; he then picked up his phone and messaged Mycroft who replied soon after with the details.

"He said you can go and see him tomorrow at 10, if you want?"

"Fine" Sherlock didn't really want to go, because he did hate therapists. He hated the way they smiled at you sympathetically and pitifully. He didn't want their pity. However, he was quite relieved because this meant he could finally try and get back to his normal self. He could finally sleep without dreams. And, he could finally stop blaming himself for the things that have happened.


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock woke up straight away. He'd managed to get more sleep than he had recently. He went into the living room, and John was waiting by the door for him. "What are you doing?" Sherlock asked as he picked his coat up from the chair to go to the therapist.

"I'm coming with you. Don't worry; I won't sit in the room with you. I'm just going to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"If you insist." Sherlock sighed, but he was actually quite relieved because he didn't think he would be able to cope on his own.

They got to the office and Mr Powers was waiting for them both outside. He seemed quite pleasant; he smiled at them as they walked to him and then shook both their hands. John smiled politely back, whereas Sherlock nodded and walked straight in.

Mr Powers pointed John to a chair as they walked in, and Sherlock and he went into the private office. Sherlock sat down on the chair he had sat on the last time he came. Mr Powers offered him a drink once again, and once again Sherlock refused. Mr Powers sighed as he sat down. He sipped his drink slowly and looked at Sherlock. "So, what made you come back?"

"My brother." Sherlock sighed, and then buried his head in his hands. He slowly ran them down his face and looked up at Mr Powers. "I can't sleep, I don't know what's happening to me; I'm not my usual self."

"You're hurting, Sherlock. This is normal. Well, the not sleeping thing is normal, but these seizures of sorts and things you keep having are not. I'm going to help you through this." Sherlock didn't know how to respond; he never normally asked for help, nor did he ever need it. However, now he did. He needed it a lot because he didn't want to be what he was now. He wanted to go back to normal.

"Thank you." Sherlock sighed.

They sat in the room for about an hour, mainly discussing how Mr Powers could help Sherlock and how frequently he should see him. Mr Powers had decided it was best to do this so that Sherlock knew he could trust him, as last time he went to the major things straight away which was clearly not good for Sherlock.

As they walked out, they shook each other's hands and Sherlock walked away. John was about to follow, when Mr Powers called him over. "John, you must keep an eye on him. I have never seen anything like this; he needs a lot of help, from everybody. I don't know what he's capable of doing, to himself or others." John nodded seriously, he understood everything Mr Powers said because he wasn't sure what Sherlock would do either, so he knew he had to make sure he was alright and that he went to see Mr Powers when he should. "His next appointment is in 2 days, at 2 in the afternoon. Please, make sure he attends." John nodded once again while shaking Mr Powers's strong hand. Then, he went to get a cab with Sherlock.


	19. Chapter 19

The next morning, Sherlock looked and felt absolutely terrible. He had huge bags under his eyes, he was incredibly pale and he felt as if he would collapse at any moment. John tried to force him into bed, but Sherlock felt he had spent to long there. He felt as though he needed to face reality, he had to stop dreaming.

"Do you want something to eat?" John asked, making himself a full English. Sherlock nodded slightly, because he was starving. "And a drink?" Sherlock nodded once again. He sat at his desk and rested his hands under his chin to try and keep his head up. This didn't really work; his head was too heavy because he was so tired. His head feel onto the desk and he slowly closed his eyes. John brought him his food and drink, which he had to wake him up for. Sherlock hardly ate or drank; he nearly fell into his breakfast.

"Sherlock, will you please just go to bed?"

"No, I'm fine... I'm fine."

"You clearly aren't, just get some rest. You need it." Sherlock wanted to protest, but John was right. He needed sleep, even though he didn't want it. So, he stood up and like a drunkard he staggered to his bed.

He woke up after two hours sleep, which was good for him. John was still waiting in the living room. Sherlock went in and sat himself down in the arm chair opposite from John's. "You look better." Sherlock simply shrugged. "Mycroft called, to see if you were alright."

"What did you tell him?" Sherlock was still quite annoyed at Mycroft because he knew the truth about his father, and he hadn't told Sherlock.

"I told him you were doing better than you have been, and that you went to see Mr Powers." Sherlock nodded slightly and then they sat in a never ending silence.


	20. Chapter 20

The next day was nearly exactly the same as the last; Sherlock didn't speak much, and nothing really happened. Lestrade had called to ask if Sherlock was alright, and John didn't really know how to reply. He thought Sherlock was doing better than he had been, but still, it wasn't much better.

Then, finally, the third day came and it was time for Sherlock's appointment. Sherlock wasn't really ready for this one; he hadn't had any sleep, he had hardly any food and he just wasn't in the mood for anything. But, John made sure he went to it, and that he accompanied him.

As they went to Mr Power's office, everything was the same as they last time; they all greeted each other, John sat outside and Sherlock went to get help. "So, how's everything been? I know it's only been two days, and not much has happened probably, but has anything at all changed?" Sherlock thought about it. Had it? He still felt the same as he did a couple of days ago; weak, tired and guilty. Nothing at all had changed.

"No; I'm still like I was. I'm still in need of help." Sherlock sighed. He started to think this was a waste of his time; he knew he had only been to one session, but he didn't feel that this could help him.

"Right," Mr Powers nodded, thinking on how to get Sherlock to feel he could trust him and tell him at least something. "How are you feeling, Sherlock? What's going on?"

"I just feel tired." Sherlock sighed. "I just feel like I can't do this anymore." Sherlock ran his hands up his face and then through his hair. "I'm losing sleep, I can't do anything, and I'm just nothing. This is driving me crazy. I need help, but I don't know how anything _is _going to help me."

"Sherlock, I _will_ help you. You just need to let me help you. Help me to help you." Sherlock nodded. He didn't know whether he trusted this man or not; either way, he was going to have to risk it.

"I'm just tired, and I feel crazy. Everything is just driving me insane and I don't trust myself anymore." Mr Powers started writing some notes down as Sherlock spoke. "I feel guilty for leaving him in there. It was _my _fault." Mr Powers stopped writing and looked at Sherlock.

"You cannot keep telling yourself this, Sherlock. It wasn't your fault; your father had put himself in there. You tried all you could to get him out, and you couldn't. Honestly, this isn't your fault."

"But that's not why I'm angry or upset..."

"Why are you, then?"

"I don't know... I don't know!" Sherlock was so discombobulated. He didn't understand what was going on; everything was just driving him crazy.

"Calm down, don't worry. How about you come back in a few days and we'll discuss it then; give you chance to think about it all. You can think about everything. How about in three days?" Sherlock calmed down. He took huge breaths in and then out, and then he nodded. He closed his eyes before standing up, to keep himself calm.

When they came out, Mr Powers informed John when they were meeting again. He told him Sherlock was feeling terrible, and he once again told him he needed to keep an eye on him.

When John walked out, he couldn't see Sherlock anywhere. He had no idea where he could possibly be. He looked around everywhere, but no sign. So, he decided to go back to the flat and maybe Sherlock was already there, and if not, he could try and find out where he was.


	21. Chapter 21

John got home, but there was still no sign of Sherlock. "Mrs Hudson, was Sherlock here?" Mrs Hudson tilted her head to the side as she tried to remember.

"Oh, yes. He came back about 10 minutes ago actually. He only came in for a few minutes and then he went rushing back out." John wondered why he hadn't seen Sherlock because it had only been 10 minutes. Then, he went outside, trying to think where Sherlock could be. He thought maybe to try St Bart's again, but he didn't know if Sherlock would go back there. Maybe he was at Scotland Yard; Lestrade might have called him in or something? He grabbed his phone and called Lestrade.

"Lestrade, is Sherlock with you?"

"Uh... no, why?"

"He's not at the flat either; I have no idea where he is."

"Could he be at St Bart's?"

"I don't know, I was going to check."

"Well, if he's not, call me and I'll help you track him down."

"Thanks." John put the phone back into his pocket and grabbed a cab to St Bart's.

He quickly ran in and found Molly. He jogged to her and asked her if she had seen Sherlock. "No, why, has he gone missing or something?"

"Sort of. He was with me about half an hour ago, but I haven't seen him since then." Molly looked quite frightened.

"I'm sorry, I haven't seen him. I'll have a look round for you though."

"Thanks." John picked his phone out of his pocket once again and called Lestrade. He told Lestrade that Sherlock wasn't at St Bart's and Lestrade told him to stay there while he went to meet him and Molly. John hung up and then tried to call Sherlock once again, but still no reply.

Lestrade got to St Bart's in about 10 minutes and they all suggested places Sherlock could be. Then, they all split up and went to search for him.

After a few hours of searching, John found Sherlock in an alley near St Bart's. He had been smoking, a lot. He was sat, knees against his chest, head held high against the wall, his elbows sat on top of his knees as his knees drooped down into the middle, as he slowly exhaled the smoke. John stood by his side, just watching him. "We've been searching for you for ages, me, Lestrade and Molly. We were worried sick." Sherlock didn't even bother to look up at him; he just threw his cigarette on the floor and let his head fall into his knees. John sat beside him and sighed. He hadn't thought about calling Molly or Lestrade to let them know he had found Sherlock. "Why were you smoking? I thought you were going to try and stop this, Sherlock. Mr Powers said you were doing well; you told him how you felt, he can help you." Sherlock gradually brought his head from his knees, still not looking at John.

"What if he can't?" John looked confused.

"Why can't he?"

"Because John. I need serious help. This won't just go away." Sherlock then turned to face John, finally. "I don't know how this will work. How am I just going to get better? I can't do this, I just... I just can't." He buried his head back into his knees and John sighed. John then rested his head back high against the wall. He had no idea how to respond to everything Sherlock had just said, because he was too worried about this. Because, Sherlock wasn't an ordinary person, he might not be able to have the help everyone else could.

"You need to at least _try._" Sherlock didn't respond because he didn't see the point in trying; it would just waste time because he knew Mr Powers would not be able to help him. "Let's go back to the flat, you should get some rest." Sherlock didn't protest; he couldn't be bothered, he just got up and followed John.


	22. Chapter 22

As soon as they got back to the flat, Sherlock threw himself into bed without saying another word to anybody. John didn't object; he felt Sherlock needed to rest and to think things through. John called Lestrade and Molly to tell them that he had found Sherlock and that he had brought them home. They were a bit annoyed that John hadn't informed them early because they had been going a little frantic worrying about what Sherlock would do. John apologised, and explained to them that they needed to keep an eye on Sherlock; he was heading off the road. He was going completely crazy, and he needed help urgently.

After a few hours of talking to Lestrade and Molly about everything, John decided he best go and see if Sherlock was alright. He walked in and just stood at the door for a few minutes. He stared at Sherlock who was lying with his back to the door. He thought about everything; was Sherlock going to get the help he needed? Will he get over this, whatever it is? Will he ever tell people everything? These thoughts ran around his head for a few minutes in search of answers he knew he was never going to find. "Are you just going... going to stand there all day?" Sherlock asked, slowly turning his head slightly round as he then spun his whole body and lay with his back on top of the mattress and he rested his hands under his head and sighed.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Do you want me to go?" Sherlock just shrugged; he didn't care anymore, he didn't care about anything. He wasn't bothered that John was going to stand there and try and figure his life out, he wasn't bothered that everybody was concerned about him, and he just wasn't bothered with the life he was living anymore. He didn't want to end it, but he was seriously depressed. John knew this, and he knew that depression is horrible, and that he needed Sherlock to snap out of it all, and quickly. "Mycroft texted me earlier," John started, Sherlock didn't seem to be that interested, but he listened anyway. "They're holding the funeral for your father tomorrow. He meant to tell me about it the other day but he had forgotten. He apologised for such short notice, but he hopes you'll be there." Sherlock turned to face John. His eyes widened, and he looked like he had finally given up all hope. He had finally been brought back to the true reality. A little sooner than he had hoped for, but not much he could do now.

"Oh, he apologises does he? Maybe I'm busy tomorrow." Sherlock said, annoyed with everything, but mainly the fact everything was moving too fast.

"Sherlock, you need to go. This could actually help you." Sherlock was confused by what John had just said. How could a funeral help him? Was John going mad and not him? "Well, you can say goodbye, sort of, and you can finally see that this is happening, and it may hurt, but it may help you get back to normal; it will show you that you cannot do anything more." Sherlock thought about it for a second, and just nodded his head slightly. Maybe John was right; maybe this would help him, and it was worth a try. "We'll have to be there by about 12. You have a suit, don't you?" Sherlock nodded "Right, right. Anyway, you get some rest. I just thought I'd tell you now before having to do it later." John walked out of the room slowly and Sherlock just looked at the boring ceiling. He thought about everything, and he didn't know what would become of him after all of this.


	23. Chapter 23

The next morning, at about 11 in the morning, John went down to Sherlock's flat to see if he was ready. The answer, was of course, no. John was wearing an ordinary black suit with a long black tie that he had dug out from his wardrobe. "Sherlock, why aren't you ready yet? We need to set off in fifteen minutes, what the hell are you doing?" Sherlock was in his room, John didn't know if he was actually getting changed or whether he was just in bed. "Sherlock?!" He screamed from the living room as he looked down at his watch for the third time.

After fifteen minutes, Sherlock still wasn't ready. So, John went into his room to find him just sitting on the edge of his bed. "Sherlock, why aren't you ready?" John went to grab the suit of Sherlock's from his wardrobe. He feared he already knew the answer to his question, but he didn't want to be right. Sherlock just bowed his head in despair. "You're not coming, are you?" Sherlock shook his head and John went beside him. "Why?" He tried to sound as sympathetic and comforting as he could, but he did want Sherlock to come.

"I just... I just can't, John." Sherlock didn't move his eyes or head from the floor. John sighed; he knew whatever he said wasn't going to persuade Sherlock to come, so he just nodded. "You go. Go and just tell Mycroft... tell him I... I..." Sherlock didn't know what he would tell him, or anybody.

"I'll come up with something." John said as he stood up and walked out. He wanted to stay and look after Sherlock, but he knew Sherlock needed time alone. Plus, John needed to talk to Mycroft about everything.

At the funeral, there were only about five-eight people. Some people appeared half way through it, which John thought was pretty disrespectful, but at least they went. He and Mycroft sat next to each other. Mycroft didn't shed a single tear, but he and John knew that Sherlock would be in tears. Based on what Mycroft had told John earlier, Sherlock would have been devastated because he and his father were incredibly close. Sherlock broke down when his father was arrested.

"Where is Sherlock?" Mycroft whispered to John. John didn't know how to answer; should he just tell him the truth?

"He said he didn't want to be here."

"Why?"

"He wouldn't say."

"Did he go and see Mr Powers?"

"He did," John sighed "he is worried Mr Powers won't be able to help him. It seems he's given up. I was going to ask you to persuade him to go and see him once again, but it doesn't seem as though he'd even bother to get out of bed anyway. He's seriously depressed. I don't know what we can do."

"I'll tell you what we are going to do, John; we will let Sherlock stay in bed for a while, there's no point in trying to get him out of it because he will just get worse. So, we let him stay in bed, but we ask Mr Powers to visit him at your flat."

"What, will he do that?"

"I'm sure I can bribe him with something."

"I didn't realise you cared so much." Mycroft wasn't surprised John had said that because he had never normally been there for Sherlock, but this was a different matter.

"John, what would you do if your role model, you hero, had just confessed to a crime you had tried to get him out of prison for, for 15 years? A man you had modelled yourself as, a man you loved, someone you didn't think would be capable of doing what he did, someone who waited 15 years to tell you he did do it. Would you forgive him?" John shook his head "no, because he wouldn't be the man you thought he was. Sherlock loved our father, and then this happened. Sherlock is feeling guilty for leaving him. He does feel it is his fault that our father died. Our father actually killed himself because he couldn't live with the guilt; he couldn't live with the guilt of killing the girl and he couldn't deal with the guilt for not telling Sherlock. He was upset that Sherlock stopped visiting him, but he didn't blame him. He admired him. Because it showed Sherlock was angry, and he hated him. Normally, if Sherlock was angry with him, he would never show it. But, it took Sherlock courage to stop visiting the one man who actually cheered him up. Our father died because he didn't want the guilt, not because Sherlock stopped visiting. He knew Sherlock was right, that's why he ended it. To prove to Sherlock that he did feel guilty, and that he shouldn't have done it. An eye for an eye. He ended his life like he ended the girl's." John had no idea how to respond to that. He had never heard Mycroft speak like that, he actually knew everything. "So, John, please; don't give up on my brother. Make sure he sees Mr Powers. Make sure he is safe, because you know what he's like. He could do anything." And there it was; actual fear in Mycroft's voice. He was frightened Sherlock would end his life too, he was terrified. John nodded, and then they stopped talking because Mycroft had to go and speak.


	24. Chapter 24

After the funeral, John went straight back to the flat. Mycroft also went with him to talk to Sherlock about Mr Powers doing home visits. He had already called Mr Powers and he had agreed without even being bribed.

They walked into the flat and Sherlock was sat on the arm chair; he was slumped on it, and his arms were just drooping by his sides. He was bright red, and he looked quite relaxed which was strange seeing as it had just been his father's funeral. Both John and Mycroft knew he had taken something. They considered that it might have been the fact that it was his father's funeral, but that was also a good reason for Sherlock to have taken something. They went to him and kneeled beside him. "Sherlock, what have you taken?" John asked.

"Nothing... nothing..."

"We know you have taken something, tell us." Mycroft insisted.

"Just... just a smoke... a smoke..." John and Mycroft realised he had taken cannabis.

"Where is it?" Mycroft and John started searching round the living room.

"I... I smoked it all."

"Are you lying?" Sherlock shook his head, and Mycroft could see he was telling the truth. "How much have you taken?"

"A... a bit..."

"Right, he's taken a lot then. John, we should take him back to bed and we can talk to him in the morning."

"What? I don't need... I don't need rest." John and Mycroft picked him up, and he tried to get them off but he was too weak and he didn't feel like putting any effort in anymore. They both took him into his room and practically threw him on the bed. He fell asleep in less than a few minutes.

John and Mycroft went into the living room and sat themselves down. They knew this was getting very serious very fast. Maybe even too fast. They had to take action quickly. "I'll tell Mr Powers to come tomorrow. He will spend as long as it takes to try and get Sherlock to talk properly. You do not let Sherlock kick him out. Agreed?"

"Of course." John knew this was incredibly serious, and he knew that Mycroft clearly had an idea of what he was doing, so he would just follow his 'orders'.


	25. Chapter 25

Sherlock woke up at 9 in the morning. He decided not to get out of bed straight away, he didn't want to, not yet. He knew that once he did, everything would become real. It was like he had a new life when he was thinking, but when he was with others the reality kicked in and everything was ruined. He could hear Mycroft and John talking in the living room, they were trying to whisper but they weren't doing a very good job. But, it wasn't really anything important anyway, so Sherlock just tuned them out and concentrated on other things. He started to wonder what Mycroft was still doing here though. What was Mycroft so worried about? Then he realised; Mycroft thought Sherlock was going to end everything, and he didn't want to risk it. He didn't deny them though; he didn't think that they were stupid for assuming this, because the thought of it had crossed his mind a few several times. Luckily, those times, he had managed to ignore them.

At half 9, Sherlock walked into the living room. Mycroft and John automatically stopped talking and looked straight at Sherlock. None of them said a word to each other; they all just looked straight at each other. "You're looking better." Mycroft finally said, looking back at John trying to show Sherlock he was disappointed in him; it's not like Sherlock really cared what Mycroft thought though. "You were in an absolute state yesterday." Sherlock sighed and lay down onto the sofa. He just let all of his muscles relax as he tried to forget everything. "Mr Powers is coming over." Sherlock quickly turned his head to Mycroft, his eyes widened and he raised his eyebrows. He was annoyed; he had told John there was no point in wasting time when he might not be able to help.

"Uh, why?"

"He wants to talk to you. He's going to help you, and I don't care if you don't want him to. In fact, I couldn't care less if you didn't want him to, because the fact is he is going to, whether you like it or not. You need help, Sherlock, and you know it. He will sit and talk until you finally tell him the things he needs to know to help you. He will not leave until you do."

"What if I just kick him out?"

"John has agreed to make sure you don't, and I'll be staying for a while, obviously not for the whole session, but most of it." Sherlock then quickly shot John a look. He felt as though John had betrayed him, and this annoyed John. All he had tried to do, right from the beginning, was help Sherlock, and Sherlock was being horrible about it.

"Great, can't wait (!)" Sherlock looked back up at the ceiling and sulked. He hated all of this. It was so stupid and he just wanted everything to go back to the way they were, but it wasn't that simple for some reason.

"Sherlock, you need this help. If you didn't need help then none of this would have happened; you wouldn't have gone to hospital, you wouldn't have had to go and see a therapist in the first place, and you wouldn't have taken cannabis. Which, can I just say, was stupid." John decided it was time for him to say this; he had been letting Sherlock walk over him because he was hurting, but not anymore. He was going to be tough because he wanted Sherlock to get better. He was doing this for Sherlock. Unfortunately, Sherlock did not see it that way.

"Oh God, is that what all this is about? The cannabis? Alright, I took it because it was my father's funeral. I hadn't taken it any time before. There you go, are you happy now?"

"No, actually, I'm not bloody happy." John shouted.

"Is this how you see all of this, Sherlock? Do you think we are just doing this for our own amusement? 'Oh look, Sherlock's going crazy and he needs a therapist', is that what you think all of this is?" Mycroft shouted as he stood up from his seat and walked to Sherlock. Sherlock turned his head slightly to face him; he could see anger in Mycroft's eyes "I know we don't get on, but I would never do this to laugh at you. I'm doing this to _help _you. I want you to go back to the way you were. Even if that is an arrogant sod. Sherlock, I swear, this is to help you; nothing else." Sherlock noticed now in Mycroft's eyes were worry, fear and sympathy. This made Sherlock realise they _were_ trying to help him.

"Fine... I'll see him." Sherlock sighed. "Thank you." He said sincerely. He was grateful because of everything Mycroft had done, but he just never wanted to get help, now he knew that wasn't an option anymore. Mycroft sat back down and they all sat in silence until Mr Powers arrived.


	26. Chapter 26

Sherlock decided to go back to bed and wait for Mr Powers to arrive. He didn't know what he was going to do. Should he just tell him everything? Will he be able to help him if he does? All of these thoughts ran crazy around Sherlock's head as he lay in bed looking at the blank ceiling.

Eventually, Mr Powers had arrived. Mycroft answered the door to him and immediately smiled. He shook his hand hard and welcomed him to the flat. John also went to shake his hand. "So, what is it?" Mr Powers said as Mycroft offered him a seat and then he and John also sat.

"Sherlock's not doing well. He started smoking and he just isn't coping. He's been in bed most of the morning and all of yesterday and the day before. He doesn't think you'll be able to help him; he's giving up." Mycroft told him. Mr Powers just nodded.

"I will try my best to help him, and hopefully, he will be back to normal soon. But, will he cooperate?"

"We have told him that he must, whether he will or not you'll have to see." Mr Powers nodded once more and stood up. Mycroft pointed to Sherlock's room. "He's in there." Mr Powers smiled and walked over. He knocked quietly and then Sherlock groaned for him to come in, so he gradually entered the room.

"Sherlock, how are you feeling?" Mr Powers asked as he pulled up a chair near Sherlock's bed. Sherlock was too busy concentrating on the ceiling to care, but he knew he had to tell somebody now. Everything was getting too real, he needed it to stop, and he needed to tell somebody. It was the only way out.

"I am not ok. The nightmares have stopped, for now. Apart from that, I'm not doing well. I can't cope. I'm depressed. Everything's going mad."

"I understand, honestly I do. You're just grieving. You need to know that it _wasn't _your fault, and if you keep telling yourself that it was then you will feel worse and worse. Your father took his own life, because of things _he'd _done, not because of something you had." Sherlock really listened to this. He did sort of believe Mr Powers, but he didn't know what to think, or how he would stop blaming himself.

"It's not just that though... I guess I'm angry."

"And why are you angry?"

"Because he _did _it. He murdered her. And he didn't tell me. It's just... just... he wasn't the person I thought he was. We were so close. But, he wouldn't even tell me that he did it. Instead, he watched me make a fool of myself trying to get him out. He told my brother the truth before he told me. He did do it. He did it."

"Maybe he couldn't tell you; maybe you were so close that he felt he didn't want you to lose your faith in him. He didn't want to break you?"

"Well his plan's worked out perfectly. I'm feeling better already (!)"

"Sherlock, don't dwell on the past. He loved you, that's why he didn't tell you. He didn't want you to hate him. The point is he did tell you in the end. Even though he knew it would result in you not visiting, you being angry, but he risked it because you needed to know the truth." Sherlock turned his head to face Mr Powers. He was right.

"So I shouldn't have stopped visiting him."

"You were right to stop visiting him; he wasn't the same person as you thought." Sherlock took everything in that Mr Powers had said. He really understood him; he was starting to feel as though maybe this could work. Maybe Mr Powers will be able to get Sherlock back to normal.

"Thank you." Mr Powers smiled and then looked down at his watch.

"Ah, I'm expecting someone at my office soon, is it alright if I go?"

"Of course."

"I will come round tomorrow to see how you are doing. Remember everything I have told you, and don't blame yourself." He got out of his chair and shook Sherlock's hand. Sherlock smiled and Mr Powers left.

Mycroft had decided to stay until Mr Powers had left so he could see if his brother was alright. "Did he tell you?"

"He did, he was very cooperative."

"Wait, what?" John looked surprised.

"He told me a lot about how he felt, and we are now actually getting somewhere. I'm coming to see him tomorrow, to see how he's getting on. I believe I might be able to help him now." Both Mycroft and John were pleased. They shook Mr Powers' hand and he left.

"Well, that was good." John said.

"Yes, it was. Let's just hope it stays this way." Mycroft was still anxious about everything.


	27. Chapter 27

Mycroft didn't leave straight away; he thought he would see how Sherlock was first, so he and John went back upstairs and into Sherlock's room. However, Sherlock had fallen asleep, so Mycroft and John just left it. Mycroft had to go about 10 minutes after as he had an important meeting. John thanked him for all of his help, and then let him go.

Sherlock came out of bed after 2 hours of sleeping. He stumbled into the living room and threw himself down onto the sofa. "Finally got out of bed?" John joked, but Sherlock wasn't really in the mood for jokes at this particular moment. "How did the appointment go?"

"I'm sure Mr Powers told you everything." Sherlock mumbled.

"Not really, he just said that it went well."

"Yes."

"Wait, you actually _did _cooperate? You?" John looked and sounded surprised. Sherlock looked over to him.

"Yes. I know it sounds strange, but I did." John sort of chuckled to himself. He thought maybe everything would start going back to normal now; Sherlock was looking and feeling better, even after one appointment, so maybe this _could _work.

Sherlock lay on the sofa most of the day. Obviously this wasn't ideal, but it was better than him lying in bed all day. John saw this as a good thing; he was finally out of his room, and he was being social. Sort of. He also ate a few bits, and drank more than he had in days, which was great. John was quite happy about this and he felt as though Sherlock was being strong and he would eventually get better, maybe soon.

Molly came over for a bit just to see how Sherlock was doing. "How are you?" she asked as she looked for a seat. John directed her to one of the arm chairs and she sat near the edge because she felt a bit nervous and awkward.

"Fine." Sherlock wasn't really answering in full. This was sort of normal for him, but still it needed to get better.

"How's your hand?" Sherlock showed her his hand which now had no bandage and had healed pretty well. It was bruised and it was still quite painful, but it didn't need a bandage anymore.

"It's alright." He didn't even bother to look at Molly; he just looked up at the ceiling. John was annoyed by this because Molly had come to check if Sherlock was alright and he wouldn't even face her. Then he thought maybe Sherlock was scared to look at her; he'd always been seen as this heartless machine, but now he was seen as a sympathetic, hurt man who was in need of desperate help. Nobody wants people to know or see that. "How are you?" This puzzled John because Sherlock wasn't really ever nice to Molly, and he never asked her how she was, but he saw it as a good sign. Maybe this whole experience had been a sign that he should be more human.

"I'm fine, nothing's really happened." Molly said, surprised he had asked, she wasn't really prepared to answer that because she had never been asked by him before.

"Good, good." Sherlock smiled a little, as did Molly and John.

"I better go; it was nice to see you're doing ok." Molly smiled nervously as she got up from her seat.

"It was nice to see you too. Bye." Sherlock said, still not looking to her, but she was still happy anyway. She walked out of the flat and left Sherlock and John alone once again.


	28. Chapter 28

The next day Sherlock got up at half nine and went into the living room. He once again placed himself down onto his sofa and did nearly exactly the same as he had the day before. John made him some breakfast which he had eaten half of, and then he studied the ceiling. Not very interesting, but it took his mind off a lot of things.

Mycroft called John to see how he was; John told him he was doing great compared to how he had been only a couple of days before. "What time is Mr Powers coming?" John asked as he looked down at his watch that said 10:03.

"He called earlier and said he'll be there at around half ten."

"Ah, ok." Then, John said goodbye and hung up. He told Sherlock to expect Mr Powers at half ten, so Sherlock went to go and get dressed. John was really starting to believe Sherlock was back to normal. Yes, he was lying on the sofa all day everyday, but he was now getting dressed, he would come out of his room, and he would have conversations. Maybe the conversations were short and they wouldn't last long, but it was still something.

There was a knock at the door, so John went quickly down to answer. Mr Powers. They both greeted each other and John led Mr Powers into the living room where Sherlock was sat on the sofa, waiting. John grabbed the desk chair and placed it nearer the sofa so Mr Powers could sit directly in front of Sherlock. Then, he left and went downstairs to go and see Mrs Hudson.

"So, Sherlock, how are you feeling today? I know it's really only been a day since I saw you last, but have you improved? Have you got worse?"

"I am feeling alright, actually. I really did think about everything you told me yesterday. Obviously I'm not back to my ordinary self yet, but I'll get there."

"I can see you are feeling better, you are speaking a lot more than you have been. And, you are dressed." Mr Powers joked, Sherlock wasn't really that amused but he laughed anyway so it wasn't awkward. "Anyway, today we are just going to talk about the things you need most help with. What do you think you need help with the most?"

"I want to try and stop feeling guilty. I know you told me to keep telling myself it wasn't my fault, and I did listen, but just because somebody tells me, even if I tell myself, it doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to stop believing it."

"I understand. A lot of grievers go through this; you're not the only one. They always find somebody to blame, even if it's themselves. It was a coincidence that you stopped visiting him two months before he died. Honestly, he did it because of his own guilt; he didn't do it because of you. You were right to not visit him, you were right to be angry, but you are not right to feel guilty because of something he did."

"How am I going to stop myself believing I am guilty?"

"Well, you just need to believe and keep telling yourself that you aren't guilty. That's the only advice I can give you; you have to work out the rest for yourself, I don't have all the answers." Sherlock sighed. He didn't know whether he would be able to persuade himself that it wasn't his fault and that he shouldn't be guilty.

"I don't know what to do." Sherlock sighed. John sat down and tried to figure out what he was on about.

"You don't know what to do about what?"

"How to stop making myself feel guilty. How am I supposed to do that? I _do _feel guilty. I _do _feel as though it was my fault. I should have kept visiting him; whether he had done it or not. I knew he needed somebody with him, I knew it. He told me that he felt terrible in that place. He told me he was going crazy, and that I was the only thing that kept him sane. He told me he felt horrible for what he had done, but he had to tell me because he couldn't lie to me even though he knew what I'd do if he did tell me. I knew all of this, yet I still didn't visit him. I knew that the place drove him insane, he was mad, and then I left. I stopped visiting him, even though I knew this was a possibility. The thought of this had crossed my mind, but I never thought it would actually happen..." Mr Powers sighed.

"It wasn't your-"

"Yes it was! We all know it was! If I had kept on visiting him then he wouldn't have killed himself!" Sherlock screamed. A tear started rolling down his cheek as he thought about how he abandoned his father.

"It was his fault – he put himself in there, and he didn't tell you that he had done what he did." Sherlock tried to speak, but he had a lump in his throat because he was so sad, he couldn't cope. He felt so guilty. He knew it was all his fault and the fact that he could have prevented his father from dying but didn't, made him feel worse.

"Just... just..." Sherlock couldn't speak, tears streamed down his face as he took deep breaths in and out to calm himself down.

"Listen, you couldn't have done anything to prevent this. This would have happened even if you had carried on visiting him, honestly. He would have done it either way; you cannot believe it was your fault."

"Are you sure?"

"I swear to you."

Mr Powers stayed for about another half an hour and then finally left after he and Sherlock had a long discussion about Sherlock feeling guilty. Sherlock had finally realised it wasn't his fault, and now he felt a lot better than he had. Obviously he didn't feel fully better, and there were still things he was sad and angry about, but this was good that he'd started to stop himself from feeling guilty.


	29. Chapter 29

The next couple of weeks, Mr Powers came over nearly everyday and spoke to Sherlock about everything. He helped him control his emotions and helped him figure everything out. John had started to see a real improvement in Sherlock's behaviour, and finally everything was going back to normal. Mr Powers had told both Sherlock and John that hopefully, in a week, Sherlock would be back his normal self, or at least close to it.

Sherlock was doing very well. He was speaking a lot more and he was eating and drinking a lot more than he had been. John was finally getting the real Sherlock back.

John started to get hungry one day after Sherlock had just had his appointment, so he looked into the fridge, but of course; nothing. "Sherlock, I'm going to go to the shops to get some food." He said, grabbing his coat. Sherlock came from his room and he grabbed his coat. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I was planning to go and see Lestrade to talk about a new case. Unless, of course, you have another idea of something I should be doing?" Sherlock said as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"Uh... no, no. Do you want me to come with you?"

"If you want, or would you rather go and buy shopping?" Sherlock said sarcastically. John made himself look annoyed, when he was actually quite happy. He was happy that Sherlock was acting like this, because it seemed like everything was already back to normal. Sherlock was back to his normal arrogant self, and they were going to solve crimes like they had once before.

"Fine, I'll come." John tried to sound like he was being forced, when there wasn't really anything else he'd rather be doing.

They both got to Scotland Yard and started walking towards the door when Sherlock's phone started ringing; it was Mycroft. He told John to go inside while he took the call, so John did what he'd been asked and went to Lestrade. "Mycroft, what is it?"

"Sherlock, I have just found a letter from our father written to a man called James Blake."

"Who's he and what's this all about?"

"He writes to him 'I hope you know I'm risking everything for you. I have even told my sons that I have done it, just to get you off the hook, this better be worth it.'" Sherlock was confused. Who was James Blake? Was his father covering for him? "I managed to find James Blake, and I got the truth out of him. He was the one who killed the girl, not father. Our father owed him a favour for something, he wouldn't tell me what, but this was him repaying the debt." Sherlock started to pant. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. This meant that Sherlock's father didn't kill himself because of the guilt; it was actually because Sherlock hated him even though he hadn't actually committed the crime. Sherlock started to hyperventilate, he couldn't breathe or speak or do anything. "Sherlock, are you alright?" Mycroft panicked, he knew he shouldn't have told Sherlock in the state he was in, but Sherlock needed to know the truth. Sherlock wouldn't reply. He threw his phone to the floor and placed his hands on his knees. He looked down at the floor and took deep breaths, but nothing would work. Sherlock looked back up at the sky and tried to calm himself down. He tried to convince himself everything was ok, but it wasn't working. John looked out of the window for Sherlock, and he could see he was distressed because he was looking around everywhere and he looked panicked, so he quickly ran to him. But, before he got out, Sherlock ran to get a cab somewhere. John tried to phone him, but he noticed Sherlock's phone broken on the floor. So, he went to the place he knew Sherlock would be; St Bart's.


	30. Chapter 30

John quickly ran to the roof of St Bart's where Sherlock was standing. Sherlock was holding a gun to his head because he knew if he threw himself off, people might think it was another fake suicide like the last time or something. "Don't do it, Sherlock."

"He hadn't done it." Sherlock stopped John from walking any closer.

"Who didn't do what?" John was confused and petrified. Luckily, he'd let Mycroft know where Sherlock was before he got there.

"My father, he didn't kill her. He was trying to protect somebody else. So it wasn't his fault. I shouldn't have left him to rot in there. I should've stayed, it's all my fault. He didn't kill himself because of the guilt; he killed himself because of my hatred for him. It's my fault he's dead! I should've known!" Sherlock screamed, preparing to shoot himself.

"No, Sherlock! You don't need to do this! It wasn't your fault, you didn't know the truth. Just don't do it." John put his hand out to reassure Sherlock everything was safe, but Sherlock didn't feel safe, not anymore.

"I can't carry on anymore. I'm a wreck. I know it was my fault. I can't cope with this anymore! Let me do this."

"Why? Sherlock, this is stupid!" John knew Sherlock was going to do it, he knew there was no convincing him not to, he just tried to bide his time so maybe Mycroft could try and persuade him.

"Because I don't want to live like this; I will keep blaming myself and soon I'll be too depressed to live, and you know what will happen then. I am not me anymore. I let my die father and now I'm paying the price, just please, I can't live. I can't live blaming myself. Let me die." John started to cry a bit, as did Sherlock.

"Sherlock," John knew he had to let Sherlock do it, because the real Sherlock wasn't coming back from this now; he was already gone. He didn't want him to kill himself though; he just wanted everything to be back to normal. Why had everything have to change?

Mycroft had finally got to St Bart's, and he was running to the roof. As he got there, Sherlock was ready. "I'm sorry." Sherlock then shot a hole in his head; Mycroft got to the roof and saw Sherlock fall to the floor, almost in slow motion. He and John screamed and ran to him. Blood was all over the floor. Both Mycroft and John cried, and Mycroft lifted Sherlock up and tried to make him wake up, even though he knew it wouldn't work. All you could hear were the cries of Mycroft and John as Sherlock lay dead on the roof.

The day of Sherlock's funeral. Quite a few people attended, including Molly; Mycroft; Mr Powers; John; Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and some of his clients. They all cried, except some of his clients and Mr Powers who didn't really know Sherlock well enough to cry, but he was extremely sympathetic and he was sad because he honestly thought he had a chance of saving Sherlock. Even Mycroft cried, not as much as he had when he held Sherlock's dead body straight after he'd shot himself, but he did shed a few tears. As did John. No one could believe it really, they never really thought Sherlock would be that bad, they knew he was going a bit crazy, but not that crazy. They thought he was getting better.

Everything finally stopped. All of Sherlock's madness, all of the blaming, and his depression. In a way, he'd let himself free; free from himself. Because, he couldn't cope with any of it, and inside, John and Mycroft knew this could happen, they just didn't want it to happen.


End file.
